


Cupid's Bees

by livinginthequestion



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bees, DeanCas Smol Things 2019, Meet-Cute, also homemade crackers, also honey, i mean there are bees here, it's definitely cracky, meet cute bees
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-04
Updated: 2019-10-04
Packaged: 2020-11-23 20:14:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20895458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/livinginthequestion/pseuds/livinginthequestion
Summary: Dean unexpectedly meets a bee. It turns out better than it might have.





	Cupid's Bees

_The bee collects honey from flowers in such a way as to do the least damage or destruction to them, and he leaves them whole, undamaged and fresh, just as he found them. -St. Francis de Sales_

_Above all, send the bees love. Every little thing wants to be loved. -Sue Monk Kidd _

Somehow, even after his promises to Mom, his brother and disgruntled roommate Sam, his doctor for god’s sake - in spite of swearing he’d keep it down to eight hours a day and take a Saturday off once in awhile, Dean finds himself winding up yet another sixty-hour week. By Saturday night his feet are so sore he can hardly walk, back twinging every time he moves, a headache starting at the base of his skull and proceeding on a slow march to the top of his head. Well, to be fair, his starring role last night in the significant reduction of their tequila inventory possibly isn’t helping. Probably also explains why Sam isn’t talking to him when he stumbles into the kitchen this Sunday morning. (Is it still morning?) 

Judging by the height of the sunlight pouring down on the back deck, it’s morning, but not by much. The boards warm Dean’s bare feet, just enough sun on his shoulders to encourage him to settle into the nearest lounge chair, beer and a fat ham sandwich on the little table at his elbow. He sighs contentedly, squirming his shoulders into the canvas and letting out a long breath. He takes another breath deep into his lungs and sighs out again, feeling his whole body relax. The neighborhood sounds -- kids’ voices, a distant lawn mower, music from the budding rockstar down the street, somebody nearby singing off-key -- make a pleasant background, soothing rather than annoying. Dean smiles dreamily; the rest of Sunday stretches out before him, nothing to do but sit here, listening to the birds chattering sweetly, the nearby voice humming tunelessly as Dean reaches lazily to the plate next to him, fingers wrapped around the sandwich, the aroma of fresh homemade bread and roasted ham and the feel something buzzing again his hand — 

Dean makes a strangled sound and jerks to a sitting position. His hand opens involuntarily, and he yells again as the sandwich falls to the deck. A tickling sensation on his hand — _Jesus,_ what is _that??_ — he staggers to his feet, staring goggle-eyed at the honeybee crawling serenely along his middle finger. Dean shakes his hand vigorously, feeling panicky, and watches the bee right itself and sail off over the railing, headed for his neighbor’s yard. 

Ah, now it makes sense. Sam was the one who figured out months ago what their neighbor was building, after deliveries of lumber, wooden boxes, weird-looking racks, mystified them both until the day Sam had snapped his fingers and declared: “Beehives. He’s building beehives.” 

“Oh great. So we’re not going to be able to hang out in the back yard without sharing it with a bunch of bloodthirsty bugs.” 

Sam’s face had performed a series of strange motions, resting on his go-to _you are an idiot_ bitchface. “First of all, they’re not _bugs_. They’re very beneficial insects. You’d starve to death without them. Second, they won’t bother you unless you threaten their hive. So don’t bother them.” His face had that smirk on his face that Dean hated. 

He would feel smug and justified now — _see?? see?? It attacked me!_ — if his heart wasn’t pounding like a jackhammer. Sam’s voice floats out of the kitchen window behind him. 

“Hey, you all right? What happened?” 

“A bee! It was, I dunno, trying to eat my sandwich!” 

There’s a short silence, and then Sam clears his throat, managing to sound all judgey and snarky. “Did you get stung?” 

Dean glares over his shoulder. “No. But it sneaked onto my sandwich when I wasn’t looking! It was planning to sting me!” 

Sam rolls his eyes so hard Dean expects to see them hit the floor. “Dean, seriously, I worry about you sometimes. The fact that this poor bee had to put up with your bullshit and still didn’t sting you should tell you something. You’re not in danger.” 

“Maybe not, but maybe I oughta _threaten their hive_ just to be safe.” Dean scowls. As he turns toward the sliding glass door he catches sight of the remains of his sandwich, sprawled across the deck like a crime scene and hosting several flies already. _Dammit_. 

“That’s it, I’m gonna settle this once and for all!” Dean alters course to go down the outside stairway, taking the last three steps in one jump and banging through the gate to the front yard. The gate to their neighbor’s backyard is standing open, which in Dean’s mind translates to permission, and in he goes, moving fast. He stomps around the corner of the house and catches sight of the culprit himself, the architect of this neighborhood disturbance: the _beekeeper_. 

He’s standing in a little open-sided shack thing, whatever it is, up against the back fence. His back is turned to Dean, and he’s leaning slightly over a hip-high table. As Dean gets closer he can see a blue plastic bucket sitting on the table. His enemy is running a spatula down the face of a wooden frame of some kind. A thick stream of golden liquid runs down the frame and drips into the bucket, but Dean’s got too much of a head of steam built up to care. 

“Hey! Hey you!” Dean barks, a little louder than he intended. Sure enough, his target starts a little, his head whipping around. Dean has time to notice intense blue eyes and a wild mop of dark hair — oh, hello — and then the guy’s face relaxes into a bright smile. 

“Hello! You’re my neighbor, aren’t you? I’ve been meaning to come over and introduce myself, my apologies for not attending to that.” Seemingly not even noticing how pissed Dean is, the idiot just goes on tapping the frame’s edge on the bucket and watching the last few drips fall. Honey, of course, has to be. Dean smells a faint, sweetish odor; he can hear a low murmur off to one side, and jumps when he glances over at the row of beehives along the fence. He blinks and turns back — to find the perpetrator coming toward him wiping his hands and still smiling that — really nice smile, now that Dean’s up close. He extends one hand, freshly clean of sticky stuff, to Dean. 

“I’m Cas. It’s good to finally meet you — ?” 

Dean makes a grumbling noise and scowls fiercely. He came over here with a _purpose_, he has a_ job_ to do, and this dude is all friendly and welcoming and — and _smiling_ like he’d love to be Dean’s friend. Dean is having none of it. 

“Look, I came over here to —” 

“What was your name again?” Cas is still smiling expectantly, with a funny little puzzled line between his beautiful eyes. Dean shakes his head sharply, like he’s trying to wake up and pay attention. 

“I’m Dean, and I wanted to —” 

“Hello, Dean. I’m very glad to meet you.” Cas holds out his hand a little further, and Dean takes it before he can stop himself. There’s a little twinkle in Cas’ eyes. 

“Yeah, yeah, but your _bees_ —” 

Cas’ face lights up. “Oh, are you a bee enthusiast too? I love them, they’re such peaceful, fascinating creatures. Did you know they communicate with each other by dancing?” 

For a second Dean’s mouth hangs open, caught in mid-word by a complete absence of coherent thought. How did he get into a conversation with this unfairly attractive man about _bee dancing??_ He shakes his head again and attempts to rearrange his face into something more befitting his mission. 

“Stop doing that! I’m trying to register a_ complaint!!_” The smile on Cas’ face fades like the sun going down, and against his will Dean finds himself feeling a little guilty. He blows out a breath. Cas’ shoulders slump a bit. 

“I’m very sorry, Dean. What seems to be the problem?” He actually looks like he cares, so Dean squares his shoulders and starts into his speech. 

“I was sitting on my deck trying to enjoy a little lunch, and one of _your_ bees attacked me!” 

“Attacked you?” Cas’s shoulders look a bit squarer too, the beginnings of a scowl on his face. “I sincerely doubt that. As I mentioned, bees are quite peaceful. What happened exactly?” 

Dean hmphs. “Don’t try to turn this around on me. I was minding my own business and reached for my sandwich, and the bee was sitting on it, and I picked up the sandwich and the bee — _buzzed_ in my hand!” 

“Were you stung?” Cas’ eyes bore into his. 

Dean swallows hard. “Well, no. I thought it was going to though, and my sandwich went flying and —” Cas’ lips twitch, and Dean frowns at him. “This is _not_ funny.” 

Cas clears his throat and nods firmly, that little smile still on his face. “No, no, of course not, you’re quite right. I’m sure the bee meant you no harm, but in the meantime you’re without lunch, yes?” He meets Dean’s eyes, and Dean can only nod back. “All right, I have a solution that I hope will be acceptable and at least partly make it up to you.” He turns back toward the little table and starts fussing with something Dean can’t see, so he steps up to take a look. 

There’s a tray with what look like weird sort of crackers, a plastic container of feta cheese crumbles, and a jar of honey. Cas is sprinkling cheese on one of the crackers, which he follows up with a drizzle of golden-brown honey. The aroma is heavenly; Dean has time to notice his mouth is watering, and then Cas turns toward him and holds out the cracker. 

“Here, try this. I hope you like it.” Cas is smiling hopefully, and for the second time in five minutes Dean finds himself responding without thinking. He takes the cracker, humming skeptically, and gingerly takes a bite. He is abruptly robbed of the power of speech. The sharp, bright taste of the cheese combines with the sweet, slightly fruity honey and the nutty crunch of cracker to take his breath away. It’s really good. Like, _really_ good. He swallows, letting out a long sigh, and looks up at Cas’ chuckle. 

“You like it, I can tell.” 

“Oh my god, yes. This is _amazing_. I’d never think of eating honey with cheese, but it’s fantastic. What are these crackers?” 

Cas’ face splits in a delighted grin. “You like those? I made them myself.” 

Dean gapes at him. “Now I know you’re lying. You _made_ your own crackers?” 

Cas nods eagerly. “Yes. I have a sister who’s a few years older than I, and she practically raised me. She had a ‘why buy if you can make it yourself?’ attitude about everything.” He launches into a story about learning to make crackers, making cheese from milk from their cows and goats, growing vegetables, how much he loved growing up on their farm. Dean munches on more crackers and cheese/honey deliciousness and listens with half his attention, the other half noticing the sky-blue eyes, the rumpled hair, the play of muscles in Cas’ forearms, his long elegant fingers, the joy in his voice. Dean’s always been a sucker for people who get wound up about things, light up from the inside over stuff they’re passionate about. He licks his fingers and accepts another loaded cracker. He chews thoughtfully, noticing an odd flavor in the honey and trying to figure out… 

“Hey, is this blackberry I taste?” 

Cas laughs delightedly. “I was hoping you’d notice that. Yes, it’s blackberry honey.” 

Dean stops chewing. “You mean…” 

“Yes, Dean. This wonderful honey exists because of your blackberries.” He’s gazing earnestly into Dean’s eyes, and Dean feels about a foot tall. He squirms awkwardly. 

“Ugh, I know my backyard’s a mess, I work all the time and I just don’t have the energy to clear out all the brambles along the fence.” He can feel himself blushing. 

“No, no, don’t do that!” Cas looks at him with horror. “I mean, it’s your yard, you have the right to do whatever you want with it. It’s just that my bees really love your blackberries, and…” He trails off, swallows hard. “The reason my honey is so delicious is your berries, Dean. It’s just another reason I like living next door to you.” 

Dean stands there looking at Cas, chewing thoughtfully. He takes a moment to notice he’s not mad any more, even though there are several bees humming around them, getting almost close enough to pet. In fact, he has a question for his new friend. 

“Have you ever tried putting honey in barbeque sauce?” 

It’s almost dark by the time Dean gets back home, long past dinnertime. The dishwasher’s running, so apparently Sam went ahead without him. Sam himself confirms this when Dean comes in through the back slider. 

“Hey, you missed dinner! It was pretty good too, I made some — What is all that?” 

Dean tips the box he’s carrying toward Sam, gesturing as he talks. “Little Tupperware thing of feta cheese, and this,” he taps the napkin-wrapped package, “is homemade crackers, believe it or not, and a jar of blackberry honey.” He smiles up at Sam, his face so open and bright with something Sam can’t identify that Sam is speechless for a second. He clears his throat: 

“...blackberry?” 

Dean grins. “Yeah, I guess Cas’ bees like our blackberry jungle out there. The honey’s great, you’re gonna like it. Want me to fix a plate?” 

Another pause. “Um, sure. Cas?” 

“Yeah, our neighbor. Nice guy. He’s gonna come over tomorrow after I get off work and we’re gonna make some honey-barbecue sauce.” 

Sam watches while Dean sets out crackers on a plate and starts sprinkling cheese, still chatting amiably about cooking with honey and homemade crackers and who knows what. A thought occurs to Sam, and he interrupts. 

“Did you say — you getting off work early tomorrow or something?” 

“Oh. Yeah, I thought I’d come home at the regular time for a change. You guys are all always hounding me about that.” Dean winks at him, and opens the honey jar. Sam shakes his head like he’s trying to loosen the cobwebs. 

“Hey, you don’t have to use up all your honey tonight. I mean, that was a present, right?” 

Dean smiles that sweet smile again. Sam can’t remember ever seeing that expression on his brother’s face. 

“Nah, I’m not worried. Cas says there’s plenty where that came from.”


End file.
